Mead Rabbit Hole - Rough Draft

The Mead Rabbit Hole

Welcome.

We are all a little mad here.

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What is mead?

To Some:

It is the divine nectar of immortality.

To Some:

The ideal of which beer, wine, cider and spirits are but cheap imitations.

When done well, it can be the “evanescent” drink of monks and poets, wizards and elves, witches and wisemen.

Gods and Goddesses.

A libation for celebration, 

sanctification, 

joyful recreation.

It is the end product of the cosmic synthesis 

Of sunshine, 

flowering plants, 

social bees, 

zymurgist microbes,

human work 

and creativity.

It is thousands of flower visits

In one 

sip.

The inebriant of our hunter gatherer ancestors with archeological records across 5 continents dating back at least 9000 years.

At its most straightforward:

Mead is the alcohol you get when you ferment honey.

It is the world and its history, the heavens and the earth all in a glass.

How deep does this rabbit hole go?  

That is up to you.

Let us start with type:

Do you like it sweet or dry? Tart maybe?  Somewhere in between?

You may have to start thinking three dimensionally.

High Alcohol or Low?

Warming?  Cooling?

Rich or Refreshing?

There is no limit to where we can go.

Really, the laws of physics and logic are suspended in mead space at a certain point.

But I’ll get to that. 

With four and five dimensions even.

A tesseract of mead.

A penteract even.

You may need a compass.  

If I gave you mine, you would probably end up somewhere I like to spend time.

It is warm where I sit.  70 something.  80 maybe. And sunny.

I like bubbles.  Tart. Almost Rich. 

Perfect for a west coast switch.

A change from doing

To deeply beeing. 

An experience

Mentally

Quite freeing.

But your journey is your own, and if I gave everyone my compass, it might get crowded here.  

And the correspondence monotonous.

I would rather that you built your own compass and ship and that we discussed and argued

Joyfully

Over why we navigate the way we do and what it means.

Meads

Traditional - honey, water yeast.  

That’s all it takes to make this beast.  

A beast that Odin slayed, 

and sang 

the song of inspiration 

Divine:

“A Drink I took of the Magic Mead

And I began to know and to be wise,

To grow and to weave poems.”

Arjuna, Indra,

Israeli Priest

Had this nectar at their feast.

Methleglin - 

A mead with herbs and spices added in.

The old mead wives - 

witches were

With staff hung high in kitchen ther’

They stirred the brew and added in, 

flowers, leaves, 

And root bark dew

To cure 

with nature 

what ailed you.

Some church men called it weird and dark

(They couldn’t reliably arrest the spark) 

But Shakespear, Chaucer, 

Bro Adam too,

They wrote and crafted and drank the brew.

What is mead to you?

A song you heard, once long ago?

A quiet stirring in your soul?

Of light made liquid, here on earth

To drink and share

In health and mirth?

There’s melomels

With fruit and mel

Of them I’ll ask other Mazers tell.

I like my mead straightforward, see.

(with pieces of flower, root and tree)

The braggots too.  

Not my bag.

Braggdalf though was not half bad.

I have seen a lot, and you will too…

Though there is so much left 

for us to do.

Varietals from Asian Cliff,

The rainforest, Amazon, on skiff.

Organic.

Regen.

One Season’s flows.

A time snap made drinkable.

Heck, a dry day drinker with layers of flavor,

Would do the trick when we are able.

There are recipes from Midas’ Tomb,

Pharos’, Queens’, Ploughmen too.

We can rediscover, re create.

See how and what, they celebrate

In the eternal afterglow.

Where time is nothing, 

Each breath, slow.

We talk of 4 dimensions, five.

With mead in us it comes alive.

The musings of the physicist 

the mysticist,

And pandeist

Who feel the vibrations in their soul

Of what cannot be seen

Above

Below

A flatlander’s 12-D paradise

The mind can hold it all you see

When stillness comes

And honeybee.

To keep gentle,

calm and present

To smell and taste

each intention meant

The buzz, the laugh

Not too loud

Their singing make the Great Love proud. 

But let us get down to brass tacks.

Mead is no mere artifact.

Of hist’ry, science, mythology,

Magic, craft and poetry.

Hundreds, thousands, make the brew.  

They drink and share so you can too.

What will your favorite flavor be?

Depends, 

Get started,

Follow me.

Frank Golbeck